Stay a Little While Longer
by HanzoShimada
Summary: The days of Overwatch are over and the world is falling back into darkness. Violence wreaks havoc, the era of heroism that Overwatch maintained is slowly fading away. Gangs are becoming more prominent around the world as big corporations are taking over the land. Within Russia, a second Omnic Crisis is underway. Can they restore their shattering world, or fall beneath its weight?


McCree wasn't one for waiting around, unless such a wait included whiskey in one hand and a cigar in another. His right hand thrummed impatiently upon his thigh as he emitted a quiet sigh. He had places to be and people to... Well, such acts were of his interest and his interest alone.

"For goodness sakes, boy. If you keep shiftin' around like that, I am goin' to be forced to smack you right on the head to keep you still." McCree's gaze flicked over to the stout, small man, gracing him with a bemused grin.

"And what makes you think you'd even be able to reach such a height?"

He watched the man's golden brow furrow in thought before he was given a smirk that mirrored his own. "I never specified vhich one."

The cowboy reeled slightly, grimacing once the man's words hit his ears. "Now hold on, Torby," he drawled in a mock hurt tone, "You best not be damaging any goods of mine. I thought we were friends."

"Unfortunately ve are, you chicken," grumbled Torbjorn before he settled back down against the warm stones of Illios.

McCree hummed at that, shaking his head as he tipped his hat forward upon his brow in attempts to block the sunlight that shone down upon them in the midday heat. Why Winston chose such a place to meet baffled him. It was too...posh for McCree. Too well known. Too out in the open. He would have welcomed the visit here if their presence had been on good terms; however, he felt that the reasoning why they were here was that of a not so pleasant factor. He felt his fingers twitch toward the holster that resided upon his right hip, its leather encasement holding his prized weapon. Her name thrummed on the edge of his lips, and danced lovingly within the back of his mind; Peacekeeper.

Torbjorn seemed to echo his train of thought.

"Vhy do you think Vinston vould ask to meet here specifically?"

McCree shrugged, his eyes squinting out over the crystal blue sea. "Your guess is as good as mine. Trainin'? Perhaps another science experiment? You never know what he holds up in that brain o' his until you find yourself smack in the middle of whatever his intentions are."

His reply caused Torbjorn to let out a gruff laugh. "Veren't you the one that was caught up in one of his expiriments that-"

"Yes."

"Ye know, the one vith the-"

"Yes."

McCree raised his gloved hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in slight annoyance. He very well knew Torbjorn had only brought such an incident forth to spite him. Then again, after all of the sarcasm he had put the engineer through, he most likely deserved it.

From the silence that followed, McCree would have thought his vexed reply caused Torbjorn to become irritated in return. He did have a short fuse, after all. Such suspicions were quenched when he turned to look at the little man, noticing how the tip of his nose was turning a brilliant shade of red from the laughter he was attempting to muffle.

McCree let out a noise of disgust, rolling his eyes. "Oh for the-damn you."

The dwarf seemed to burst then. His belly rang with deep laughter as he threw his head back, his golden beard swaying with each gasp for air he took. "Pah, you're makin' a chicken out of a feather, cowboy!"

"A chicken out of a-what on earth are you tryin' to tell me?"

"Vhat I am trying to tell you is that you are making a big fuss out of nothing! So your hat was ruined, and you now have an obscure scar on your right ass cheek-"

McCree shot up from his relaxed position at that, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. "Oh now you're just blowin' things out of your ass," he huffed, his eyes shooting Torbjorn with his well known glare. He merely raised his hands upward as a gleam of mischief shone in his eyes, seeming to yield to his hardening tone. "I'm just repeating vhat Tracer told me."

Now it was his turn to laugh. It rose slowly in his chest, shattering all forms of toughness he displayed with his rising anger. It tickled within his throat, the chuckle finally trailing past his lips with an exasperated sigh. "Good lord, you folks are goin' to be the death of me."

Of course Lena would take high advantage of such a tale to twist. She, as always, had been the light and laughter of the organization, even with the remaining few that still existed. He made a mental note for sweet, savory revenge.

Of course, such plotting would have to wait by the features that had passed over Torbjorn's face. McCree turned his head, following the direction of the one good eye his friend still held. The sight was enough to make his lip curl upward in disgust.

Before him resided Winston giving Torbjorn and McCree a rather apologetic look behind his framed glasses. To his left stood a rather large fellow; the iconic face of gluttony. His bulbous belly hung over his belt, a crude portrayal of a swine imbedded within his skin. A low rumble shook beneath his mask as he shifted his weight, the chains that chimed upon his hip a stark contrast to the deep noise. McCree's eyes flicked to the right, eyeing the second man that had accompanied his primate friend. He was shirtless, save for the bomb pack that had been haphazardly strapped to his chest. His right hand, which was made of nothing but pieced together robotics, was beginning to rust with years of age. A gleeful smirk danced upon the man's lips as he too shifted into a fraudulent heroic pose, his one good leg seeming to hold all of his weight.

"Hell no," breathed McCree, his hand shooting to the leather holster. His fingers skillfully withdrew Peacekeeper from the latch, raising it towards the blonde man with a satisfying click.

"A moment, Jesse!" Winston's voice seemed a pitch higher than usual from the tension. "Give me a moment to explain their presence."

"I don't need no explainin'. This... rat ..." he tipped his weapon at the skinnier man, "has done enough to confirm that he needs to be put down like a dog."

The blonde man stepped forward, exaggerating the movement with his legs. "Now, pardon me good sir, but I fear you have my name mistaken." He paused, giving McCree a border line anarchic look before raising his gloved hand above his head, casually snuffing out a grouping of hairs that had been smoldering. The playful, mocking tone of his voice revolted McCree. How he ached to put a bullet through his thick skull. "The name's Junkrat. How do ya do?"

"I know who y'are," McCree hissed, his grip tightening around the trigger. "You and baconbits over there leave nothing but purposeless chaos in your wake. Stealing that of which you do not deserve, and allowing innocents to be injured in the crossfire."

The larger man, who had been silent up until now, stepped forward suddenly with a loud clang. Another rumble reverberated deep within his mask, followed by words that were coated in deadliness: "Say bacon one more time."

"With pleasure," McCree murmured as he turned Peacekeeper towards him, his breath quickening in rage.

"Enough!"

McCree's gaze continued to bore into the man that looked more hog than human.

"Jesse, put the gun down and give me a chance to explain why I have brought these two here." Winston sounded more tired than irritated; it was as if he expected such a reaction from McCree. He was damn right.

"Vhat for?"

Jesse had forgotten Torbjorn was still at his side. He was unsure if his weapon had been drawn, but he could clearly hear the soft whirring of his mechanical arm rise to further life. Ultimately, the cowboy had been shocked that Torbjorn had sided with him in this circumstance. The two usually found themselves at a crossroad every time they were presented with conflict, to which was both infuriating and tiresome.

"Vhy should ve even consider hearing your vords, my friend? Is it not our duty to aprehend those who are a threat to the people? Our people?"

"Then you must not understand the despondency of our situation," Winston replied. He gave the two a long look, softly sighing as he pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. "You both know how our numbers in Overwatch are dwindling. With each day, Talon silences another flame."

"And me and Roadhog are here to light it back up!" Chimed Junkrat ever so cheerfully, completely oblivious to the fact that he was dampening the defense to his case. He puffed out his chest, seeming to take pride in the fact that he was wanted.

"Now we've all done a lot of stupid shit in the past, Winston, but 'm afraid this takes the cake." Jesse was infuriated. He ground his teeth together, his head beginning to pound in need of a cigar. "Y'really think we'd be okay with letting these two conniving junkers join the likes of Overwatch? They'll loot everythin' in sight and take off into the sunset to never be heard from again."

"Oy, that's a mighty fine statement comin' from someone who knows a lot about sunsets," snickered Junkrat, procuring a mock tip of a cowboy hat towards McCree. A soft yeehaw would follow the action, furthering his sound of amusement. Such a stunt set Jesse's veins on fire. He took a few steps forward, his teeth clenched and his lips drawn back in a sneer.

"I should have skined you alive when I had the chance back in Numbani, weasel."

"I'm a rat. There's a difference, you know."

"Hold your tongues!" Winston's voice boomed over the clearing, silencing all conflict and causing everyone's attention to turn to him. "Enough of this hostility! You may not realize it Jesse, but we need as many bodies as we can get a hold of to fend off the atrocities Talon has been causing! Everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves and show growth; you of all people should know this." He paused, anger burning deep within his eyes as he looked down at Jesse. "Unless it was a mistake to give you the same opportunity all those years ago."

"You know damned well why I agreed to join this division," growled McCree, his tone rising in volume.

"And have you made your amends, Jesse? Or are you still the same man that had been trapped between security lockup and joining Overwatch, who had no choice but to opt for the latter?"

McCree stiffened, his veins feeling as if they were about to melt away his very flesh. Winston had purposely struck a chord. His thoughts reeled about in his pounding head, and his jaw clamped shut. It surprised him that Winston would use such a past to silence him; however, such a method seemed to have worked. He swallowed once, taking in a slow breath as he lowered his gun to his side.

Winston grunted in approval, seeming to be satisfied that he was beginning to make ground in this situation. He decided to continue before any more outbursts rose.

"These two hold vast knowledge for explosives and making due with that they are presented with. Rather than continuing to allow them to wreak havoc upon the cities, I have decided to offer them a home within Overwatch. Should they accept, their records are to be wiped clean, giving them a new slate to their life." His eyes glanced back over to McCree as he spoke, making it a point that such words rang home. It sure as hell did, as much as he hated to admit it. Lingering shame rose as would spirits from the grave, cascading around his shoulders and enveloping him in soft doubt. It was the continuation of Winston's voice that shook him from his disdained antiquity.

"Their skills combined with the refined work of Torbjorn would prove to be phenominal, should they follow the codes and regulations set within Gibraltar."

"You expect me to villingly vork vith them?"

"I expect you to do what is right for the organization, old friend."

Torbjorn stood in silence for a moment, seeming to mull over the options he had. Like McCree, he knew he held little wiggle room for compromise. The two of them were caught between a rock and a hard place that held no escape route. Finally, the little man emitted a long, frustrated breath, his one good eye hardening at the lot in front of him. "As long as he listens to vhat I tell him, and does not touch anything vithout permission. I don't want my shop blown to smithereens."

Torbjorn's agreement had been the nail in the coffin for the cowboy. He now knew he held no choice but to accept the two onto their team. His protests would be considered nothing but a thorn in Overwatch's side for the time being until he was capable of maintaining a better grasp upon this mess. Despite knowing 76 would be in the same mindframe as he once they returned to Gibraltar, it brought him little assurance.

Winston looked back over to McCree, raising his eyebrows in expectance. It was enough for him to lay down his weapon, but to be asked for a conformation of agreement? He rotated his jaw once, running his tongue roughly against the outside of his teeth as he looked at the two junkers that stood before him. How he loathed the two. If it were up to him, two bullets would have already glided through the air and honed into their targets.

McCree was a man of loyalty. Should one go the lengths to earn his trust, they held his credence for life. The two that stood before him however contrived an entirely different view from him. They had been - no, are criminals. Their greed and sheer zeal for payment was their very own ichor of life. And yet...why was such an observation causing his thoughts to draw himself back to where he once was? Why did these two remind him of a criminal himself, trafficking weapons through the borders of America under the name of Deadlock? Although his acts did not involve actively detonating any structure, he was well aware of his own people falling due to altercations that always made themselves present. People he could have saved.

His teeth bit sharply into the flesh of his inner lip, the sweet sting keeping what little regard he held to the two lives in front of him in check. He simply gave them a brief, shallow nod.

A sound of borderline psychotic mirth escaped Junkrat as he hopped from one foot to his peg leg in absolute delight. "Oooooh, goodie! Ya hear that Roadhog? We're on the team! Now we'll be explodin' things for all the right reasons!"

Roadhog reciprocated with a dead stare, his shoulders rising and falling with his guttural breaths.

Junkrat shrugged at his silence. "Yeah, yeah. You're right buddy. The money was a good reason too. But now our records are clean! Done deal! I just can't wait to meet the team! Fightin' side by side, given ole Talon the how to and what for!" The junker balled both of his fists up, hopping from side to side as he threw a few punches within the air.

McCree could taste the bile rising within his throat. The thought of those two joining forces with what remained of Overwatch brought such an uneasy feeling to him. He was more than reluctant to even consider the thought. Now he not only had to keep an eye on the enemy, but keep an eye on his own front lines as well. His grip tightened on Peacekeeper, who had been patiently waiting at his side.

McCree always did what he did best, and at this moment, it was to react on impulse. He of course held no other choice but to comply with Winston; he did, however, hold the choice to make a lasting impression.

He approached Junkrat, a false smile plastering his lips.

"Well then, partner, if y'all are so keen on meetin' the others, I'd be happy to get you started."

He extended his hand to Junkrat in offering of peace. The junker gave him a wary look at first from his sudden change in demeanor; McCree watched his threaded thoughts pass before his eyes until his touch of sanity reclaimed his mind. Just as Junkrat moved towards him, McCree fired a bullet into the meat of Junkrat's left thigh. The shout of the junker's pain as he collapsed to the ground was music to his ears. It sated his anger, and calmed him down. He casually flipped Peacekeeper to safety, holstering it upon his hip once more as he looked down upon the man, blood beginning to seep onto the white tiles of Illios.

Roadhog leaped forward, heaving himself towards McCree only to be stopped by the extended arm of Winston. McCree flashed the pig a dark grin. "I suggest you be headin' to meet Doctor Zeigler first," he breathed, proceeding to then turn on his heel and walk back towards the ship. He reached into his leather satchel, procuring a thick cigar. He took it within his lips as he searched for his lighter.

Perhaps such an action would come back around to him ... In due time. He would have to face the consequences of his heated actions, and be prepared to respond accordingly. No matter what was decided, he knew there wouldn't be any form of reconciliation between himself and the junkers, team member or not.

He felt the bristling glare of Winston and the disappointed gaze from Torbjorn upon his back as he continued walking down the path, making it a point to show no care to what he had just done. Once his cigar was lit, he took a slow, long draw from its length, seeming to ease his tension slightly as it filled his lungs. He waved at them, keeping his gaze forward as he shouted, "You can think of that bullet as a housewarming gift, rat." He made it a point to punctuate the last word as a large plume of smoke laced his following statement. "No need to thank me for the gesture."

No need to thank him at all.


End file.
